


P.S. I Love You

by sunshinexprincess



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friendship/Love, Implied Sexual Content, Nightmares, romanogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24265702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinexprincess/pseuds/sunshinexprincess
Summary: She had smiled, cracked a joke, chugged her drink to make up for refusing to tell Tony which Avenger she would most like to sleep with. He had meant sex. She had only wanted to be held.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 3
Kudos: 96





	P.S. I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> Had to get this one out of my head. Hope you enjoy my three am thoughts!

His skin felt the way the records on his player sounded. Thrumming easily, steadily against her, blood pulsing underneath his skin the way the beat pulsed in Billie Holiday songs.

He smelled faintly of sweat and he tasted of nightmares, lips hot with the blood she dreamed of on her hands, and bruising like the memories that threw her ruthlessly to the ground like she was back in Russia, nine years old and biting her lip to stop from screaming.

She stopped screaming a while ago. She had nothing left to be afraid of.

The first time she kissed him it was slow and soft, the way kisses in the 40s would have gone. Trying to let him know she wasn’t going to demand anything from him. _I’m here, I just want your company._ The way he responded had bought her nearly to tears: forceful, and unafraid, and full of a power she didn’t know he possessed. Making her feel safe, and seen, and believed all in one.

She had come to him one night after a mission. She had made it through a celebratory dinner with Thor’s cocktails and Tony’s ridiculous rounds of truth or dare, and eaten an entire large pizza on her own. She had smiled, cracked a joke, chugged her drink to make up for refusing to tell Tony which Avenger she would most like to sleep with. He had meant sex. She had only wanted to be held.

She had arrived at his door, shaking in a loose tshirt and sweatpants, hair pulled up messily with a pillow gripped against chest. He had opened the door and then his arms, letting her sink helplessly into him as she did so often in the jets flying home, shaking in his lap with blood matted into her braids and dirt crusted under her fingernails, his fingertips skating smoothly along her arms. Tony had shot the pair a look the first time it had happened- New York to the nearest functioning hospital- and Steve had shaken his head, with a look so darkly unlike him Tony had nodded and focused instead on keeping Banner calm.

His arms went around her and she had broken, collapsing to her knees before he scooped her up swiftly and placed her gently on his bed, crawling silently in beside her, and ghosting his fingers over her waist as if asking for permission. She had nodded wordlessly, and almost imperceptible sigh escaping her lips as he had gathered her into him, pressing a slow kiss to her cheek.

She came to his bed more now than her own. She could have rolled her eyes at the others’ stupidity, for not noticing that she hadn’t washed her sheets once in the past four months, if she weren’t so tired and so enjoying the way his skin felt against hers.

Tonight it was a nightmare. The Red Room, always the Red Room, screaming and orders and a gun in her tiny hands as she aimed it at a crying classmate. Strange men with their hands places they shouldn’t be, asking her if she felt good and wondering why she should, and then saying yes because she had a feeling it was what they wanted to hear. Blood, and more blood, drowning her in cement cells with ten dead bodies and a man in a grey suit in front of her telling her how well she’d done.

He never asked, only held her tight under his sheets, breathing _sorry_ into her hair and kissing her neck the way he’d learned she had liked. He was the only one who had never asked. The only one she went back to because of it.

Tony had implemented an unwritten rule of no inter-Avenger relationships, which no one followed anyways- her mind drifted to Clint and Wanda, a pairing apparently _nobody_ but herself had seen coming- and besides, sleeping in his arms just so she could be well-rested for their endless list of missions was a good enough reason for her to be here, if any of the others ever found out.

The way he kissed her was the way she used to be scared of. Relentless, unbridled passion, harsh against her mouth and swallowing her screams as if they were sugar. When she was young it was terrifying: men three times her age kissing her like she was a toy doll with painted on lips. Later on missions, breathily girlishly and melting under her target’s hands before plunging a knife into their throats, she had begun to own it as a tool, never telling her handlers of the almost constant ache between her legs in the aftermath. And now, Steve. His name was soft even in her thoughts, a dominance she not only needed but craved. She had shaken the first time she had asked him, fiddling with the sheets. And the Black Widow _never_ fiddled, or shook under the gaze of of a man.

_________________

_“You can tell me,” his voice was a caress. “If just sleeping next to me isn’t cutting it Nat, tell me what I can do.”_

_“It’s not that simple Rogers.”_

_“It’s that simple with me.” He had sat on the bed, putting a large hand on her bicep and squeezing. “You know that it is.” He had kissed her then, chastely on the temple like when she slept, a surge of warmth and a floating whisper of more, trembling above her head like feathers in the wind. “Tell me.”_

_She closed her eyes, griping the sheets hard in her first before blurting: “I need sex.”_

_He bit down on his lip, trying hard not to laugh given her vulnerable state._

_“And you think I can’t give that to you. . . why?”_

_She shook her head, eyes still shut tight. “It’s not like that.”_

_“Okay,” he murmured, taking her fingers to his mouth with his other hand, placing the gentlest of kisses to them. “Then what is it like?”_

_Her heart- if she had one left- cracked a little at the sincerity in his voice. Was he truly willing to do anything to help her feel like herself again?_

_“It’s like BDSM,” she said, avoiding his gaze and noting the way his muscles tensed. “That’s the only way I learned intimacy. The only way I know how to show it. Being. . .submissive I guess, is the best way to put it.”_

_They had sat frozen, hands locked and bodies thrumming with nervous energy before he had done the opposite of what she expected: he kissed her._

_And then he had pressed her firmly to his mattress, slipping off his shirt with a quiet ease, staring down at her with a calm possessiveness that was deeply familiar but altogether different in his ocean blue eyes._

_“You know, that wasn’t much of a thing in the 40s,” he had said almost conversationally as he motioned her to shimmy out of her clothes. “And I was an idiot to think people would take me seriously as a dominant guy anyways.” He was moving down her neck, dotting kisses across her skin like the stars out above the balcony in the sky. She hummed, close to falling into the deep hole of submission that was looking less and less terrifying with him there above her, a soothing weight that was slowing her heartbeat, calming the racing of her blood. “Nat.” His voice was like honey: steady, easy, warm, safe, and enticingly sweet, practical begging her to give in to it. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for something like this.”_

_Things had gone black and insanely bright at the same time. If only they knew what good old well behaved and cordial Steve Rogers was like in a bedroom, she remembered thinking as he pounded into her relentlessly and whispered humiliation into her ears, they’d apologize for every joke they’d ever made about his supposed virginity._

_Because one thing was for sure: Steve Rogers wasn’t a virgin._

________________

She curled into him, putting her lips chastely to his chest and kissing a pattern across to his bicep, breathing in his scent as he began to stir.

“Not tired?” He murmured gently, his eyes fluttering to strike her with shinning blue.

“Tired,” she said, kissing his shoulder, “just too lost in thought.”

He nodded, putting a hand to her hair and working his fingers into it expertly. “That’s been happening a lot lately.” An unspoken ‘ _do you want to talk about it’_ hung in the air.

“I would tell you I’m sorry but you’d say I shouldn’t be.” She propped her head in her hand and looked up at him. “You’re getting to me Rogers.”

He chuckled. “In a good way I hope.”

She kissed him in response, deep and hard the way they fucked, pulling him to her like a second skin. “Maybe,” she said into his mouth. “Now either put me to sleep or make me come.”

He bit her lip, laughing at her gasp. “Which do you want?”

She shrugged, dark red curls falling over her shoulder. “I’m tired.”

He nodded and pulled her to his chest. “Then I’ll sing.”

Yes, his voice was like honey, she thought absentmindedly as he dropped into one of her favorites, stroking her hair to the rhythm of the song and his heartbeat. Steady, easy, warm, and safe, and entirely too sweet for an assassin like her to fall into his lullaby like a child.

But with him, somehow, the moment she slipped through his door and into his arms, the moment she curled into his chest after hours of delicious torture and ecstasy, she was just her. Not Agent Romanoff. Not the Black Widow. Not even Natasha, but Natalia. The woman she wished she could have been, and was lucky enough to be, here, wrapped up in him and the white of his sheets.

_“And so I'll close, but by the way_

_Everybody's thinking of you_

_P.S._

_I love you.”_


End file.
